Martha Fletcher has only ever had one job- Executive Assistant to Sam Courtenay.
She'll schedule his diary, pick up his dry cleaning, usher girls out of his apartment first thing in the morning... nothing was out of bounds until one night, that blur...
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I sat on the bottom step of the stair with my bag, packed, at my feet. Nervously, I shifted uncomfortably as I waited for Martha to arrive home; I couldn't leave without saying goodbye, even if it would hurt me more than dying. This break up was inevitable but that doesn't mean it's painless. We'd had a good run, better than I thought we'd have, if I'm honest. Our relationship was one of the highlights of my life but as with all good things, it has to come to an end.
My feelings for Martha would never go away, I knew that much. The problem is, I wasn't sure if I was ready to do this, to settle down with her while knowing that there's so much for her to see, to do, to experience. I'm older than her; I've seen the world, I've done some crazy stuff and I've experienced more than some but for her, the world is hers for the taking and she should grab it with both hands while she can. If she stayed here with me, she'd be settling for a life that wouldn't truly fulfil her and I'd have to look at her every day, knowing I'm the reason why that beautiful smile of hers doesn't reach her eyes anymore.
When James Saylor's job offer came along, I could see she wanted to say 'yes.' Hell, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops because it's not every day a Hollywood A-lister offers you a job as their personal assistant. Opportunities like that don't come around often, if at all. Despite outwardly saying that she didn't want the job, that she was happy here in London, with me, a big part of me knew that if we weren't together, she'd jump at the chance. She wanted the job but if she accepted the offer, she'd have to move to Los Angeles. So she turned it down.
That's when the doubt crept in.
Martha started to rationalise that there was no way she could leave London. Her family are here. Her baby sister was here. Charlotte was expecting again. But most importantly, she'd said at the time, I was here. Wrapping her arms around my neck, I'll never forget the words she whispered to me, a promise that I knew she'd never break. "I won't leave you, Sam."
Those words- those five bloody words- was all it took for me to realise this decision was the right one. Martha would put her life on hold for me and that was unfair. That's why this love affair has to end. I cannot be the reason that she turns around in ten years time and says, "I wish I'd done that." I was holding her back and for what? I was almost a decade older than her. Soon enough, I'm going to want to stop with this wild behaviour, get married, have children. Martha's not ready for that, even if she thinks she is.
I was doing her a favour. That's what I needed to bear in mind as I wait for her to walk through that door.
Outside, I hear a car pull up. Martha knows to call for a car on the days I leave the office without her. I always said that I wanted to know that she wasn't walking the streets of London on her own. She told me I was being ridiculous. I didn't care. The door opens and in she walks. It was painful to see her, knowing that this would be the last time I look at her. It struck me how beautiful she is. Those blue eyes. The blonde hair. The petite frame. I studied every inch of her, baking it to memory for prosperity. Until we were together again, this is how I'll remember her.
"Hey," she greets me, her accent making my heart stop. God, I'm going to miss her accent. A smile spreads across her lips as she shakes out of her coat and kicks off her shoes. "You'll never guess what happened after you left."
A stabbing feeling tore through my stomach as I listened to her. She wanted to fill me in on everything that had happened and was excited to let me share in this with her. Unfortunately, I couldn't sit here and listen. Getting up to my feet, I brush my sweaty hands against my jeans and take a step forward.
"Martha, we need to talk," I announce, wincing at how cliché that sounds. Still, I had practised this speech enough times this afternoon to know how it should go. Just like a band-aid, rip it off.
Martha blinks. "About what, exactly?" Her eyes scan me from head to toe, a frown etching its way between her eyebrows when she notices the bag on the floor behind me. Suddenly, her eyes snap to mine. "What's going on?"
"Martha-"
"Why is your bag packed? Where are you going? Are you leaving?" Her words cut me off, as well as in half. The agony in her words made my heart stop beating. The quivering in her voice didn't help, neither did the tears that silently fell from her eyes. Just do it. "Sam, you can't leave me. Why?"
Not wanting to prolong this more than was necessary, I pick up the weekender bag and throw it over my shoulder. Taking a few steps forward, I find myself unable to look at Martha; I knew exactly what she would look like and seeing her so fragile, I wouldn't be able to walk out that door. When I come within a few inches of her, I stop and slowly raise my eyes to hers.
I shouldn't have looked.
"I'm sorry, Martha," I speak just below a whisper. Could she tell how difficult this was for me? "I'm breaking up with you. I can't hold you back anymore. I can't give you the life you deserve. This job James Saylor offered you, you should take it."
She shook her head. "I don't want it. I work for you, remember?"
"About that," I say, inhaling deeply before sighing heavily. Here goes. "Martha, you're fired. You no longer work for Courtenay Galleries, nor for anyone associated with the business and my family members, Sophie included."
"Sam-"
"Like I said," I continued, knowing how cold I was being. Colder than usual. "You're fired. And we're over. I have to go now."
Opening the door, I stepped out into the humid summer evening and made my way to the car, ignoring Martha's pleas for me to go back inside, for us to talk things through. Her cries for me were becoming more and more desperate but that wasn't enough to make me turn back around. We were through.
No. Martha won't thank me for this now. In the future, though, she might. I also had to hope that she'd forgive me one day. And that maybe, she'd come back to me, because if she did, it was meant to be.
